


Needful Things

by mona1347, poisontaster



Series: Light 'Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sam, Infidelity, M/M, Phone Sex, Post-Break Up, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mona1347/pseuds/mona1347, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like gravity. Like oxygen and water. All the needful things, things you'll die without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needful Things

It's like gravity. Like oxygen and water. All the needful things, things you'll die without.

And there are only so many times you can go clubbing and get yourself too drunk to tell that the boy you're fucking isn't your brother. Dialing with his thumb, Sam almost fumbles the phone. Almost. But there's the fear that if he does, he'll never have the courage to make this call.

"Dean."

Fuck. That was slurred. That one stupid syllable was hopelessly slurred. Shit. Fuck. But it's not like he had a hope of hiding how drunk he is from Dean, so whatever.

Dean's voice is rough but not rough enough, not like he was sleeping and it's late. Well, it _is_ late. "Sammy? What are you...?"

"What did you like best?" Sam can't stop the words from tumbling over his lips and he sounds about eleven years old but fuck it. Just... fuck all this. He doesn't want to worry anymore because it's Dean and he can be _real_ when it's Dean, so he just keeps going. "About fucking me. What was the best part?"

Yes, that pained little intake of breath; a hit, a palpable hit. Sam almost giggles. Dean sighs and Sam hears a muffled click like Dean's going into another room. Leaving _her_ in their bed. He sounds so tired. "Sam. We're not gonna do this."

"No, Dean. Tell me. Was it my ass? My mouth? Or just the fact that I'm your baby brother?"

"You're shitfaced." Sam regrets not being able to see Dean's face because that's the Dad-voice. The voice Dean can always put on and the voice that never goes to his eyes. Sam does laugh and then--finally, thank God--Dean sounds angry. His voice could grind glass. "You are _shitfaced_ , Sammy. What the fuck? Where the fuck are you?"

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much." Sam laughs again but it breaks. "I miss you. I've been trying to jerk off for two hours and all I can think about is missing you. Your hand, your mouth, on my dick. Missing you in me."

There's just silence on the other end of the phone. Dean could have hung up for all Sam knows. Except that he'd _know_. So he keeps talking, his voice just above a whisper. "It's not the same with other guys. The guys who look like you. None of them are... they don't even come close, Dean. They aren't you. I can't... I can't stop thinking about it. I can't _feel anything_. Not like with you. Not like when it was _us_."

"Sammy." Dean's voice is soft and blown now, barely more than a choked growl. "Stop it."

"No..."

"You don't want this. You've got to stop."

"Why?"

"Because I can't say no to you." Dean's voice sounds ripped to shreds. "So please." Dean cuts himself off and swallows. "You have to stop."

Except Sam doesn't stop. Because he can't stand for Dean to say no. Because Dean can't say no. Not now. Sam's voice is equally quiet, equally shredded. "I think I was wrong."

It feels like a declaration, even half-whispered and almost-can-I-take-it-back. The choice he makes burns like a brand and a stunted little half-sob bursts from Sam's chest. "I just want you and I don't care and I'm sorry. I just want your hands on me, your tongue. I'm sorry... Oh, God." He groans and reaches for his half-hard cock again, beyond caring, beyond shame or dignity. "Your mouth. Oh, Jesus, your mouth on me. Just talk to me. Please, Dean, just talk to me."

"Sam..."

"I'm drunk, Dean. I'm really fucking drunk and I'm hard and I'm at the Ellis Street hotel in Room 314 and I want you here with me."

The silence goes on so long that Sam thinks that this time is it. The time he's finally fucked it all up beyond redemption. The time Dean _won't_.

"I... Okay, Sam. Okay. I'm...on my way."

And he can't even feel triumphant about it. He can't feel anything except this stupid want, this _need_ to have his brother, to have _Dean_ there with him. It isn't happening fast enough. Why isn't Dean here _now_? He can't... He keeps stroking himself.

"Don't hang up!" Sam says, suddenly scared. Afraid that if he lets Dean hang up, he'll chicken out like Sam's chickened out so many times before. "Don't hang up. Just... if you just talk and I just hear you. And know you're with me."

"I won't. " Dean says and the rough edge is gone from his voice. He only sounds calm now, steady.

"Don't... don't leave. Don't..."

"I won't, Sam. I'm right here."

"Don't leave. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ , I always leave. I leave you and..."

"It's okay, Sam. I'll be there soon. I'm right here. I'll...I'll be with you all the way, I promise."

Sam's voice goes low and dirty suddenly; he squeezes a fist tight around his cock and starts stroking faster. "Just keep talking."

~~~~~

"What...what do you want me to say?" Dean's mouth is dry. So dry. This shouldn't be happening. This can't be happening. And the really awful thing is that he can't even feel sure it _is_. Because it's so much like what he's dreamed before and he just...can't make himself believe in it. Not really.

"You never answered my question, Dean. What was your favorite part?"

Dean closes his eyes briefly, one hand on the cold metal of the Impala. "I don't know, Sam. Everything. All of it."

"Me?"

"Of course you."

Sam sobs a little and Dean can't tell if it's sex or sorrow in his voice.

"Just keep touching yourself, Sammy. Just keep going. Keep stroking and I'll keep talking, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam lets out a sigh and the hitch in his breath tells Dean too much. "I think about you. When I'm with them, when I'm by myself. I jerk off thinking about you."

Dean fumbles the keys in the ignition and curses as they fall to the floor beneath his feet. "What do you think about?"

Sam whines a little, high in his throat. "The way you smell. The way you taste. When you'd touch me. Like...like you knew me. Like you knew everything about me, just through your hands. Sometimes I'd watch you do other things--clean the guns, pump gas--and I'd get so hard I'd be dizzy."

Dean's thankful that he can drive this car through blood loss and crazy adrenaline rushes. Because fuck knows he should run off the road at that. "Always?" he chokes out. "Or just... after?"

"Always. Forever. Ever since I _could_. Fuck... fuck..."

"Don't come. You hear me? Don't you...Christ, don't come until I get there, okay?"

Sam hiccups. "Okay. Yeah. If... Oh, God, Dean."

He can't drive too fast, he cannot get pulled over or crash into a ditch. He _can't_. He's got to get to Sam. _Now_. God. He gives her more gas because he can't _not_.

Dean pictures Sam, naked and sloppy, sprawled out golden across some cheap flowered bedspread. It's all too easy to do. Imagines that long big cock, and the even bigger hand that encircles it. He remembers how it tastes, salt and bitter at the red, wet tip. He remembers...everything.

"Wait for me, Sam." It's barely a whisper.

"Yes. Just...please. Tell me...I want you to fuck me, Dean. Tell me you'll fuck me. Please. I'll wait, I swear. Please just. I'll stop. I won't touch. Just tell me."

Dean's jeans are too tight and his blood runs too fast through his veins. He can't even see the road really, just some hot white streak stretching out ahead of him like a ley line to Sam. He's tried so hard not to think about this any more. To not think of Sam _that way_. And now...fuck. Now this. Why this? Why now? Why...? But in the end, 'why' doesn't matter. It's Sam and that's all the 'why' he's been able to handle. Only that Sam's asking Dean for something and Dean has to ( _wants to_ ) give it.

"Yeah, Sam. I... We can do that."

"Say it," Sam insists fiercely. "I just...I need to hear it. Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I know I'm too drunk for this. I shouldn't have called you, I just... Sometimes it's all I can do to _not_ touch you. To not...fall down on my knees and suck you or...or beg you to fuck me."

" _Jesus_ , Sammy... Yes." Dean doesn't recognize his voice anymore. Doesn't recognize him _self_. "Yes, I'll fuck you. So soon. I'll be there so soon and I swear, Sam, I will fuck you so you'll never _forget_..." Dean makes himself stop.

It's definitely a sob then. "I'll wait. I am waiting. God. Feels like I've been waiting forever."

"I'm doing the best... I'm driving as fast as I can. I promise."

Sam laughs then. "Don't crash the car, Dean. You'd never forgive me if anything happened to her."

"You can't...you can't just call in the middle of the night like this and then tell me to worry about the _car_ , Sam."

Sam doesn't answer.

"Sam?" Dean says, into the abrupt silence at the other end of the line.

Suddenly Sam gasps, loud, startling. "Sam?" Dean asks again.

"I... Fuck. I don't want to wait, when you get here. I want...I want you right then. All at once. That...ohhhh...that means I need to be ready."

The blood haze clears up just long enough for his brain to throw up a thought. An image, really, and the car nearly swerves off the road seemingly of its own accord. "Jesusfuckingholychrist... are you doing what I think you're doing, Sammy?" Sam moans, loud and long and Dean's gut clenches. "Tell me. Fuck. _Fuck_. Tell me, Sam."

"I'd...uh, God...I'd have thought that was obvious. I'm fucking myself open for you."

Dean swallows. "How?" His voice comes out like it belongs to someone else. "How are you doing it? How many fingers?"

"How many do you want it to be? I'll do what you tell me, Dean. Just...what do you want me to do?"

"Two." Dean's trying to focus through the dark windshield and clenching the phone in his hand so hard, he's afraid it'll crack. "Use two. Then put more lube on yourself. Nice and slick, Sam, okay? Then go to three."

Sam gasps, so hard Dean worries for a second about his actual oxygen consumption. "Yeah... Yesss. I'll be ready."

"Don't want to hurt you, Sammy. Just want to make you feel good. Just hang on, hang on..."

Sam moans again when Dean says "Sammy" and it...it's almost too much, you know? God. Fuck all these red lights, he's run every one, and goddamn this long-ass road halfway out of town to the farther corner of _hell_... where is the fucking motel already? And then he sees it. Right as he's damn near driving past it. Dean makes a right so sharp the wheels squeal.

Sam hisses through his teeth. "Is that...?"

"Yeah. Yeah, baby; I'm almost there. I'm getting out of the car now."

"Hurry."

"I will."

"Are you hard, Dean? Because... Hell, it doesn't matter. I'll suck you until you are."

"Am I _hard_?! Did you seriously just ask me that, dude?" Dean jabs the elevator button for the third time then looks around for the stairs. He's lost his mind. He's utterly, utterly lost his rabbit-ass mind. "Fuck, Sam. Why are you on the third floor?"

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I've got three fingers in me. Right now. It hurts a little, but I think I can take four. I think I need four. You're pretty big."

"Jesus... Jesus..." Dean's wildly twisting from the elevator again when it dings and opens _entirely too slowly_. He throws himself sideways through the crack when the doors part and hits the "3" button for roughly an eon before they rattle closed again.

"It feels good though, you know? Not as good as you, but it feels good to be full. I want it to be you, though. God, Dean, aren't you here yet?"

He starts to unbutton his shirt with one hand, the other shaking, clutching at the phone. "Do it. Do it, Sam. I'm almost there, I swear to _God_." Sam whimpers and Dean swears he can hear the wet slide of those fingers slipping in and out.

That fucking door better be unlocked or Dean's gonna kick it down. "It's good, right? I'm gonna make it even better." The elevator doors open. "I'm here. I'm here. Tell me you unlocked the fucking door, Sam."

"Yeah." Sam sounds breathless on top of the slur and Dean hears bedsprings groan, relieved of Sam's weight. "Yeah, Dean. It's open. C'mon. Please, Dean. It hurts. It hurts that you're not in me."

"I will be." Oh, thank fuck, the door is open.

Sam slams into him the moment Dean steps through it; the door thunders shut behind him and then Dean's flattened against it, Sam's mouth frantic and hard on his. He hooks long fingers into Dean's half-unbuttoned shirt and tears it down with a clattering scatter of buttons. It's reflex for Dean's hands to go around him, grip Sam's ass and pull him tight into him. Sam's cock is hard and hot as a firebrand against his half-naked belly. Dean feels his bottom lip tear with a slice of Sam's teeth and he can't stop. How did he ever think he could stop?

 _Sam_.

"So long," Sam mutters, chewing and sucking Dean's lip. He doesn't know if Sam means since they last did this or the amount of time it took him to drive here. "Now, Dean. Please, you promised."

They bite and shove and tear their way across the small space to the bed.

And the fucked up thing is that Dean remembers this; how it tastes, how it feels, the violent push/pull/shove. He remembers. And it's like oxygen. Like water and gravity. Things you die without. Things that when they go, leave you spinning off forever into nothing.

Needful things. It's like Sam.

He's forgotten though, how strong Sam is when he's fixated on one thing.

Dean can't help the yelp that comes out of his mouth as Sam rips his jeans down off his hips and legs to tangle around the tops of his boots. "No underwear," Sam pants with a grin. "Good man. God, Dean. You..." Sam drags him down onto the lumpy bed, tugs Dean's body to rock over his own.

"Fucking Christ, Sam, I didn't have _time_ ," Dean answers. "You drag me out of bed..."

No. No. This isn't what they're supposed to be thinking about. They aren't supposed to be thinking at all.

"No," Sam echoes, seeing it. Dean freezes but Sam growl-sobs, "No, Dean, don't... No. _No_. I want you. You're mine. You're _here_. Just... Just us, okay? Just you and me." Sam wraps long, strong legs around Dean's hips and pulls.

Dean makes a horrible, gasping whimper because his cock slides just perfect into the hollow of Sam's hip and it's slick with sweat and stray drops of lube; it's so good and it's not enough.

"Do it, do it, do it, Dean, please, yes, please," Sam babbles as he rocks his hips up and back, trying to realign Dean just that little bit lower. Dean inhales, slides down Sam's body so they're eye to eye and his cock slips down through the groove of Sam's hip.

It slips between his sweating thighs and then they make just one movement. They both arch--perfect, in tandem--and Dean slides inside to the sound Sam makes, ragged and desperate and complete.

~~~~~

For a moment, when Dean eases deep into him, Sam can't move. No amount of prep can really get you ready for the reality of an iron-hard dick in your ass...but that's not really it. Not mostly. Mostly it's that it's _Dean_ inside him, moving in tiny jerking thrusts that force Sam open around him. Dean's hands move from Sam's hips to slide underneath him, lifting, soothing up and down his back. Dean's voice is broken, though, alternating between soft reassurances of "It's okay, Sammy; it's okay" (which it's really not) and moaning declarations of "So hot. Forgot how hot you are inside, how tight, God, Sammy. Almost too much."

Sam struggles to get his shaking arms behind him, struggles to push himself up because Dean is being too careful. Dean rocks back with him, strong, broad hand against his ass, the small of his back. Dean drops onto his haunches, knees under Sam's thighs and Sam settles over and against him, straddling his lap. Dean's cock slides inside deeper, harder, and they moan into each other's mouths.

Sam's hands grasp onto Dean's shoulders, grabbing and shifting and grabbing again because it's not enough. He can't seem to get close enough and he mewls and works his hips in irregular stutters.

" _Fuck_. Yes. Sam. It's okay. I got you. Got you, baby, it's okay." Dean starts caressing Sam's sweat-slicked back again as he thrusts upward, meeting Sam's movements, fucking deeper and eating at Sam's mouth between gasps.

"Yeah. Yeah. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Dean." Sam throws his head back, the cant of his own hips and Dean's sharp little thrusts stab into the knot of his prostate and his cock is trapped between their stomachs, rubbing and sliding with each movement and Sam thinks he's gone _blind_ with it. With how good it feels, how right and home and needful and _yes_.

" _Sam_." Dean's open mouth is pressed to Sam's Adam's apple and the sound vibrates through his throat so Sam doesn't know if it's Dean's groan or his tearing from his mouth.

Sam comes, comes apart, as the world shatters around them to his own chanted, "Don't stop. Don't stop. Dean, don't stop, don'tstopdon'tstopDeandon'tstopDeanDean..."

~~~~~

Dean has no thoughts, nothing in his brain, but his senses flood with Sam's cries, the taste of Sam's throat, Sam's arching back as he twists and seizes, lost. They're both so lost. "Sammy. Sammy..." His arms wrap around Sam's writhing body in crushing pressure as he comes, deep, liquid spasms that seem to counter Sam's until they ricochet off each other in expanding waves of feeling. Dean buries his face against Sam's shoulder, panting, gasping, wracked and riven by _this_ , something that hasn't been for so long and yet hasn't been for one second forgotten.

Sam's hands slip over Dean's slick skin to tighten around him in turn; against the side of Dean's face, Sam murmurs, "Mine. God, I'm sorry. Mine. Still mine, thank you. Love you. Dean."

And that's when it starts to ache, like a chill settling in bruised bones.

But that...that has no place here. This isn't just because of Sam, it's _for_ Sam. His cock softens enough that he can slip free; Sam makes a soft noise and wriggles closer. Sam was always a cuddler, barring his prickly teens, and any leanings Dean has in that direction are because of him. Maybe he should tell Lena she should thank Sam for that. But that's another situation he doesn't want to think too much about and is at least a little bit of the reason he's here to begin with.

"You too, Sammy-boy," he says instead, soft instead of bitter.

The tip of Sam's nose and his lips cut gentle lines over Dean's cheek, come to rest at the front so their eyes meet, lashes tangling. Dean blinks, tickled and hot-eyed at the same time. "Missed you," Sam mumbles into Dean's mouth.

Dean smiles. "'Course you did."

Close to, he can see the darkness behind the opened pupils of Sam's eyes, a discontent and deeper unhappiness that he doesn't even know how to address. It's not something he can kill or suture shut or even kiss away. He knows because he tried. Tried so hard. "Don't go," Sam says and it's barely even a whisper now. "Don't... I don't want to wake up here, after..." Sam cuts off, flinching and Dean tightens his arms again.

"It's okay. I'll stay," he answers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Sam's breath catches and he nods a little. Dean knows he got it right; and really, the thought of Sam waking cold and abandoned and well-fucked is just as ugly to him. He's spent his whole life protecting Sam. Even from himself. "C'mon. I'm tired. Lay down."

This, too, is so eerily familiar; stiff, cheap, starched sheets and ugly comforters, beaten mattresses that sag in the middle, tumbling them into a heap at the center. Dean lies on his back and Sam curls up against him, one leg, one arm and half his body thrown over Dean's. They stink and they're disgusting with the remnants of sex but that doesn't really bother Dean half as much as how _good_ this feels, having this again. Having Sam with him again.

 _I want…it's got to be forever, Dean,_ Sam said to him once. Dean thinks that 'forever' is a lot like 'apocalypse'; neither is quite as final as you think at the time. Sam murmurs and resettles against Dean. Sam's face is pushed up against Dean's neck and in his sleep he makes soft, damp kisses to the skin behind Dean's ear.

Dean doesn't know what this means, any of it. It's been years since he's had any inkling that Sam might still feel this way, let alone...let alone _this_.

 _Sometimes it's all I can do to_ not _touch you. To not...fall down on my knees and suck you or...or beg you to fuck me._

Dean thought it was him. Just him. That Sam had forgotten...or maybe had never really cared enough to remember.

Dean closes his eyes, fully aware that it's a fake. There's no sleep for him. Not here. Not tonight.

~~~~~

Sam can't remember the last time he woke up with another body warm against his. He never stays with any of his casual fucks and there hasn't been anything other than casual fucks for...shit. Longer than he cares to think about. And the crazy thing is, he doesn't remember _shit_ \--how he got here, how he got like this--but he already knows whose body it is.

The rest of it's pretty easily inferred; his head aches like he just had a month's worth of visions all at the same time, his mouth is dry and sour, his skin is sticky and his ass aches with the deep throb that tells him that someone--that _Dean's_ \--been up there not too long ago.

He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to move because he knows how this goes and he's not ready for it to be over. To be finished.

Except it _is_ finished, right? He's the one that finished it, months--years--ago, retreating behind the safe (and God, how he's come to hate that word) shield of _brothers_.

But...Dean. Here. Now. With him.

"Come home with me," Dean says suddenly and Sam startles. He didn't know Dean knew he was awake.

 _Of course he did,_ Sam thinks a moment behind it, scornful. He lifts his head from the warmth of Dean's shoulder and blinks blearily into his brother's eyes. "What?"

Dean's hand on his back idles in small circles, a gesture as familiar as the spray of freckles across his nose. "You're too thin. You're not eating." Only Dean could make that sound like such a bald statement of fact.

Canted up on his elbow, Sam drags a hand through his hair and tries to remember the last time he concretely ate something. Money's been tight and he's been preoccupied. Still... "I eat just fine," he lies, because that's what they do.

Dean snorts. "Bullshit. Come home with me. You don't... Are you working today?"

Sam glances at the clock and shakes his head. He isn't, but even if he was, it's too late now. A thought occurs to him and he looks back at Dean. "I passed." At Dean's confused look, he clarifies, "The bar. I...that's why I was out. Drinking. I passed the bar. We were celebrating."

"Oh." Dean looks nonplussed for a minute then his face lights up and he punches Sam hard in the arm. "That's great, dude. Congratulations. Damn."

"Yeah." Sam swallows and looks away. He hates that he almost misses the days when Dean fought him tooth and nail about going back to school. _It isn't supposed to be like this_ , he thinks and not for the first time. "Yeah, thanks."

"So come on," Dean says. "You have to come now. We can celebrate or something. You can stay and I'll grill."

And the thing is? Although the thought of facing Lena--and worse, Dean's kids--is awful, stomach-churningly oh-God-I'm-gonna-puke awful, Sam knows he's such a pathetic fuck he's going to do it. Because it's just that much longer he has with Dean. To be around him. To pretend things aren't as fucked up as they are.

And maybe for two seconds pretend that it isn't all his fault.

~~~~~

They don't talk about it any more. They don't talk about anything. Dean doesn't get it; after all the shit Sammy put them both through about going back to college and getting his law degree, he'd think Sam would be over the moon. But every accomplishment, every honor, every milestone passed just makes Sam sink deeper into this ongoing funk and Dean doesn't even know how to get within ten feet of the topic without it turning into some kind of fight.

He's still muscled as hell, but it's all whipcord over bone and Dean doesn't really _know_ but sometimes he feels this vague worry that Sam's drinking his dinners more often than not. Maybe now that Sam's out of school and over the hurdle of the bar Dean can talk him into coming out to the house more, feed him up, keep an eye on him. Lawyers...that's a bad scene. Too many coked-up, hard-drinking fuckheads and Dean's not going to stand by and watch Sam turn into one of them.

Sam takes the first shower and Dean listens to the water run for about five minutes before he goes in, pushing the curtain aside and going to his knees to suck Sam's half-hard cock into his mouth. If now is all he has, then he wants everything he can get from it. Sam keens like he's hurting, dying, but his hands cupped around Dean's head, thumbs stroking behind Dean's ears, urge him on. Sam is heavy on his tongue but his hips feel almost delicate under Dean's fingers. Dean spits when Sam comes and then Sam sags down the wall and the two of them smash up uncomfortable and bony while Sam strokes Dean hard and fast to his own orgasm, Dean's face pressed against Sam's neck.

They're both quiet, getting dressed. Dean's shirt is done for but old habits die hard; he's got a spare in the trunk. He catches Sam looking at him when, in the parking lot, he strips off the de-buttoned shirt and trades it for an old T-shirt, but he just turns away and doesn't say anything. In the car, Sam puts his head back and pretends to sleep. Dean watches Sam's fingers tap unconscious rhythm against the outside of his thigh, though, and knows it for the bullshit it is. For the first time, he allows himself to admit that inviting Sam home--especially in light of what just happened with them--may not be the smartest idea he's ever had. But Sam called _him_ and Sam wanted (needed) him and he's just...he's just not ready to let go of that yet.

Forever's over soon enough without any help from him.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was the 'first' of the "Light 'Verse"; the first where I/we knew it was a universe, the first time I realized that the 'forever' of the first two stories went terribly, terribly wrong. Mona and I wrote it together in chat, then cleaned it up, put a polish on it and sent it to beta. This story is really the fulcrum of the entire universe, pulling all the pieces together and pulling Sam and Dean--inevitably--back together.
> 
> Many thanks to Maygra for beta services.


End file.
